Breaking And Entering
by crazywriter911
Summary: Neal gets frustrated when they can not seem to crack a case going by the book, so he decides to crack it his own way. WARNING: Disciplinary spanking of an adult male.
1. Chapter 1

Breaking and Entering

Summary: Neal gets frustrated when they can not catch the bad guy the legal way, so he tries it the illegal way. WARNING: Contains the disciplinary spanking of an adult.

NOTE: This story is set after the final episode in season one. Fowler is in prison and Neal is back in his ankle tracker.

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Neal walked into Peter's office and sat down. "What's up?" The younger man asked. "New case?"

"Yes, are you familiar with the artist Eric Townsend?"

"Sure, he was a little famous in the early nineteen hundreds. But after his death about forty years ago, his paintings became a hot commodity. He painted horses and other western scenes. Why?"

"A man named Nathan Brown had a painting by Townsend stolen from his office."

"This guy had a Townsend painting in his office?" Neal asked, a little surprised. "They range from fifty thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What type of office does he have?"

"Defense attorney, a lot of his clients has been accused of white collar crimes." Peter said, Neal could hear the distaste in the older man's voice. "Forensics already went over the place, but I want us to take a look."

Neal nodded, as the two men stood up and left the office.

"So you don't like the guy?" Neal asked, as they walked.

"We've had a few run ins, he makes a habit of trying to discredit the FBI when he's defending his clients."

"He any good as a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Then Peter smiled and added. "But every one of his clients that I arrested were convicted."

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Peter and Neal walked into Brown's office, just as the forensics team were leaving.

"Agent Burke." A man in his late fifties said. He was a stout man with thinning grey hair.

"Brown." Peter greeted. "This is my partner Neal Caffrey."

"I've heard about you." Brown said. "I've heard you were very good at solving crimes. And I know Agent Burke is, so I am glad you both are here." He looked at Peter and added. "I know we have had our differences, but I also know that you are a professional and that you won't let our past effect your job performance."

"We will do everything we can to return your painting." Peter assured him.

"Thank you. It was insured, but I would rather have the painting. My wife bought it for me last month, just before…." He stopped talking and took a couple deep breaths.  
I…I'll be right back." Then he rushed from the room.

"I take it his wife has passed away." Neal said, after the man was gone. He felt bad for the man, he knew the pain of losing someone he loved.

"Almost a month ago, car crash." Peter answered.

Neal nodded, then started looking around.

"Brown said the door was locked, and the building was locked up when the theft occurred. But there were no signs of forced entry."

"Inside job?" Neal asked, as he looked at the tall windows.

"Possibly."

"We're seven stories up, so I doubt the thief climbed in through the window."

"You have to have a card key to use the elevators after hours." Peter said.

"Anyone missing one?"

"No."

"I apologize for my absence." Brown said, reentering the room.

"Not a problem." Peter said. "How many offices are in this building?"

"Forty seven."

"Have you ever had any problems or altercations with anyone here?"

"No."

"How about any clients?"

"A few." Brown smiled slightly. "Like the ones you've arrested."

Peter was about to respond, but he stopped and stared at Neal. Brown also stared at the younger man.

"What the hell is he doing?" Brown asked.

"Not a clue." Was Peter's answer.

Neal had opened one of the windows and was climbing out the opened window. He disappeared for a moment, then they heard loud clanging from outside and rushed over. When they reached the window, they saw the window washer's metal lift basket being lowered with Neal in it.

"I think I know how the thief got in." He said.

"I hardly ever lock that window, never thought anyone could get in through it. Tom had nothing to do with this, I'm sure of that." Brown said. "But he usually leaves the lift basket on the ground floor. "

"So anyone could have access to it." Peter said.

"He leaves it locked up." Brown said.

"Hey!" An angry voice shouted from outside the window. "What are you doing with my lift basket, you fool kid?"

Peter and Brown leaned out the window and looked up. A man was three stories above them, also leaning out of a window.

"It's okay Tom!" Brown shouted up. "They're with me!"

"I'll return his basket." Neal said.

"I'll meet you up there." Peter said.

"Want a ride?" Neal asked with a smile.

"Not a chance." Peter shook his head.

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Several minutes later, Peter and Neal were back in Peter's car.

"Tom's not very big on security." Neal said. "Anyone with a hat pin could pick that lock and use the lift basket."

"A painting that expensive requires a fence with connections." Peter said. "Brown said it was insured for a hundred and ten thousand dollars."

"I doubt him trying to fence it this soon."

"Yeah, I know. He said his wife bought it at a gallery on Hunter Street. Let's check it out, see if anyone else showed an interest in that painting."

Peter drove to the gallery and parked his car, the two men got out and walked into the gallery.

"Can I help you?" A young woman asked as she walked over to them.

"Agent Peter Burke, FBI. This is my partner Neal Caffrey, we have a few questions about a painting you sold last month."

"Please, follow me." She lead them to a far corner away from the potential customers roaming around. "Which painting?: She asked.

"Western Nights by Eric Townsend." Peter said.

"Not my taste." The woman said. "But very popular among a lot of people. That painting was sold to Linda Brown a little over a month ago, she said it was present for her husband. Linda has bought several paintings and sculptures from us over the years."

"Was there anyone else who showed an interest in that painting" Peter asked.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Does this have anything to do with Linda's death?" The woman asked, concern in her voice. "I thought that was an accident? I know she died just a few days after the purchase."

"This has nothing to do with Mrs. Brown's death." Peter assured the woman. "The painting was stolen."

"Oh. There was this one guy, very crude and low class."

"He wanted to buy the painting?"

"Yes. Linda brought the painting three weeks before she picked it up, she wanted us to keep it until she presented it to him. The morning she picked it up, this man came in asking about the same painting. He became angry when I told him that we had the painting, but sold it. He was still here when Linda showed up. He offered to buy the painting from her for a hundred and seventy thousand dollars, but Linda refused. She said her husband would really love the painting and that it wasn't for sell for any price."

"How did the man take the news?" Neal wanted to know.

"Not well at all, he left the gallery in a huff. Then when Linda left, he attacked her. He had been hiding outside waiting on her. He tried to wrestle the painting away from her, but William stopped him."

"Who's William?" Peter asked.

"William is the daytime security guard." She nodded to a large man standing by the door.

"Was the man arrested and charged?" Neal asked.

"No, Linda refused to press charges."

"Did you happen to get the man's name?" Peter asked.

"No, but his face and the scuffle is on the security tapes."

"We will need those."

"Of course."

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An hour later, Peter and Neal were standing outside an apartment belonging to Matthew Brittle. Brittle was identified as the man on the security tapes. He had a long record of arrests ranging from petty theft to assault and battery.

"If I had a hundred and seventy thousand dollars to spend on a painting that was only worth a hundred and ten thousand dollars, I would not be living in this place." Neal said. The halls were littered with thrash and the paint was chipped and worn on the walls.

Peter knocked on the door and it was opened by a man in his early thirties.

"What?" The man asked.

"FBI." Peter said, showing his badge. "I have a few questions to ask."

Brittle's eyes grew wide, then he tried to slam the door shut. But Peter show it coming and quickly grabbed the door and opened it the rest of the way. Brittle turned and ran, with Peter right behind him. The younger man ran to the window and was about halfway out the window, when Peter grabbed him and brought him back into the apartment.

"I didn't do anything." Brittle exclaimed, as Peter cuffed him.

"Then why did you run?" Peter wanted to know."

"Force of habit."

"Nice try."

"Peter, look." Neal said, holding up a painting of a sunrise over mountains.

"Is it real?" Peter asked.

"Nope." Was Neal's answer. "But it is a very nice forgery."

"So is that one." Peter said, nodding to another painting that looked exactly the same.

Neal walked over to a pile of paintings scattered on the floor and started sorting through them. "They're all the same." He said.

"I refuse to say anything until I talk to a lawyer." Brittle said.

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Peter walked into the integration room and sat across from Brittle. Brittle's lawyer, Adam Hunter, was seated beside Brittle.

"Where is the original painting?" Peter asked.

"I have advised my client not to say anything." Hunter said.

"Too bad." Peter said. "I was about to offer him a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Brittle asked quickly.

"You don't strike me as an art lover." Peter said. "My guess is that someone paid you to steal the painting. But you don't know anything about telling which ones are fakes and which ones are real. That's why we found ten fake paintings in your apartment. Give me the name of the person who's calling the shots, and tell me where the real painting is."

"What do I get?"

"That depends on what you tell me."

"I will confer with my client." Hunter said.

"His name is Clifton Rendell." Brittle said.

"Matt." Hunter said.

"Stay out of this." Brittle said. "I am not going down alone, Rendell told me to get all of the paintings I could find. Weather they were real or not."

"Why?" Peter asked.

"No idea."

"He wanted the fake ones too?"

"Yeah, all of them. So what kind of deal do I get?"

"Did you still the painting from Brown's office?"

"Yeah. Rendell told me too. So what kind of deal do I get?"

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"That makes no sense." Neal said. Him and Peter were in Peter's office. "Why would Rendell want the fakes?"

"Clifton Rendell has been suspected of many things." Peter said, reading his computer screen. "Forgery, counterfeiting, theft, extortion, black mailing, among others. But he has never been officially charged with any crimes. Lack of evidence."

There was a knock on the door and the two men looked up to see Jones standing there.

"Peter." The other man said, "Mr. Brown is here, he wants to talk to you."

"Send him in." Peter said.

Brown walked into the office and Peter motioned for him to sat down in the chair beside Neal.

"I was just wondering if you found out anything." Brown said. "I know it hasn't been that long, but it's felt like an eternity. It's funny." He smiled slightly, but the other two men could see the sadness in his eyes. "When Linda first gave me the painting, I wasn't that fond of it. I'm not really into the western style art. But Linda was so enthusiastic about it, and her enthusiasm was contagious. I've gown to love that painting, especially after…." He stopped talking and took a deep breath. "After I lost Linda, that painting became the most precious procession I own."

"You have my word, we will do everything we can to get it back." Peter assured the man. "We have a couple leads, we will let you know as soon as we find something solid."

"Thank you." Brown stood up, as did Peter and Neal. They shook hands, then Brown left the office.

"We've got to get that painting back." Neal said, after Brown had left the room.

"That's what we've been trying to do." Peter said. "Let's go have a talk with Rendell."

"Only talk?" Neal asked.

"We don't have enough evidence to do anything but talk."

"We could search his place."

"No judge will sign a search warrant." Peter said, as they walked down the hallway.

"Who said anything about a warrant?"

"No." Peter said firmly, as he stopped walking and glared at the younger man.

"What?" Neal asked, with his best innocent look.

"We do this by the book, understand?"

"But….." Neal started, but Peter held his hand up and stopped him.

"By the book, Neal."

"By the book." Neal agreed, with a sigh.

"I mean it." Peter said sternly. "You do anything that I don't approve of and you will not like the consequences."

Neal nodded, but didn't say anything. He hated going against Peter, he truly did respect the older man. But Neal knew what it was like to lose the love of your life. He had to get that painting back, regardless of the methods he had to use. He knew Peter would be mad at him if he disobeyed him, but he also knew that Peter would forgive him. He always did, after lecturing him and yelling at him.

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Peter and Neal walked up the walkway to a large three story Victorian house. Peter knocked on the door and a young woman in a very short maid's outfit opened the door.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"We're looking for Clifton Rendell." Peter said, showing his badge.

"Cliffy!" The woman yelled out as she walked back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

"He must have hired her for her excellent communication skills." Neal said.

"Obviously." Peter agreed.

The door reopened and a middle aged man stepped outside onto the porch.

"I am Clifton Rendell." He said. "Can I help you?"

"We are investigating the theft of a painting by Eric Townsend." Peter said. "Your name came up in the investigation."

"I don't see how." Rendell said, shrugging his shoulders. "Townsend painted horses and barns, neither of which interests me."

"Have you ever heard of a man named Matthew Brittle?" Peter asked.

"No."

"He claims that you paid him to steal some paintings."

"He is mistaken; I have never paid anyone to steal anything in my entire life."

"Do you prefer to steal them yourself?" Neal asked.

"This conversation is over." Rendell said. "If you have any further questions, contact my lawyer."

Rendell turned and walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

"What was that?" Peter asked, as he glared at Neal.

"It was a simple question." Neal replied, as him and Peter retuned to Peter's car. "He wasn't going to give you anything anyway."

"I know." Peter said. "We need to get enough evidence for a search warrant."

"How?"

"The old fashion way." Peter said. "Leg work."

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Hours of leg work produced no results. A very tired Peter and Neal left the office around two in the morning. Peter went home, and Neal went to Rendell's house.

"I really need a car." Neal mumbled to himself after the cab pulled away. In the past, he would have just stolen a car without a second thought. But not now, and not just because he didn't want to go back to prison. Although that was a big part of it. But Peter was an even bigger part of it, as were Elizabeth and June.

Neal hid behind some bushes and watched the house for over an hour, he saw no movement or light from inside and figured it was safe to go in and take a look around.

He went around back and smiled when he saw the security alarm that Rendell used, it was surprisingly simple. Neal picked the back door and slunk inside, with a nagging guilty felling in the pit of his stomach.

"This isn't stealing." He said to himself. "It's just obtaining a previously stolen item to return to the rightful owner." But the feeling wouldn't leave. He knew Peter would be disappointed in him, even if he found the painting.

"When the hell did I start caring about what other's thought?" He asked himself, but he already knew the answer. It was when he met Peter.

Neal walked into the large living room and heard a noise behind him, he spun around just as the lights were flicked on. Rendell and the woman who answered the door were standing there, both had guns aimed at Neal's chest.

"So a leopard can't change his spots, Neal Caffrey." Rendell said.

"You've heard of me?" Neal asked, flashing his most charming smile.

"What I heard was that you became a lackey for those idiots at the FBI." Rendell said, as him and the woman lowered their guns.

"That's my day job." Neal said, his brain in overdrive trying to think of a way out of his present situation that didn't involve him getting shot or sent back to prison.

"Let's just shoot him." The woman said.

"Not yet." Rendell said. "He may be useful."

"I can be very useful." Neal agreed with him.

"He's wearing an ankle tracker." The woman said. "The FBI knows he's here."

"I don't think so." Rendell said. "My guess is that Caffrey here planned on stealing the real Townsend painting for himself."

"It is worth a lot of money." Neal said, with another smile. "You can't fault a guy for trying to earn a little extra money, Uncle Sam doesn't pay very well."

"I may have a position for you." Townsend said. "If you want it."

"Not a good idea, Cliff." The woman said. "The tracker."

"I can remove it if I need too." Neal said. "A friend of mine can over ride it, the Fed's won't know a thing." Neal knew that if he cut it, the FBI and more importantly Peter, would know where he was and that something was wrong.

"I do hate a liar." Rendell said. "I know how many people you have helped the FBI put in prison, and I do not want to become one of them. I do not know why you are here without the FBI, but it doesn't matter. I am in need of your services, but under my rules." He looked at the woman and nodded.

The woman walked over and stood in front of Neal, then without warning, she drew her arm back and punched him hard in the face. Neal felt the pain explode, then he fell to the floor and darkness overcame him.

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TBC

I LOVE REVIEWS!


	2. Chapter 2

Peter let out an irritated groan when the ringing phone woke him from a deep sleep. He rolled over and grabbed the receiver and mumbled something unrecognizable into it. Then he sat up and listened to the caller, fully awake now. After a couple minutes, he hung up and got out of bed.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked with a yawn, as she watched her husband getting dressed.

"Neal's tracker was cut." He said, sitting on the bed and putting on his shoes and socks.

"When?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"Peter, you know Neal wouldn't run."

"I know." Peter said. "Something's wrong."

Peter kissed his wife and hurried out of the room and out of the house. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Neal?" He muttered. He had a gut feeling that it had something to do with the stolen painting. "He never listens." Peter grumbled, as he drove. "Never listens."

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Neal woke up to find himself laying on a concrete floor, he wasn't tied up. His ankle tracker was gone. He knew that Rendell wouldn't have been dumb enough to cut the tracker in his home, or wherever they currently where. Which meant that Peter had no idea where he was.

He kept his eyes shut and listened. He heard Rendell and the woman with the great left hook whispering close by. But he couldn't make out what they were saying. He didn't hear anyone else.

Neal slowly opened his eyes, and was not able to stop the moan as the bright light hit his eyes. He noticed that they were in what looked like an empty warehouse.

"Morning sleeping beauty." Rendell said, as him and the woman walked over. She was now wearing jeans and a tee shirt.

"You look better in the maid's outfit." Neal smiled, as he stood up.

"Can I hit him again?" She asked.

"Maybe later." Rendell said. "Stacy here is an expert fighter." He said, looking at Neal. "I am putting her in charge of making sure you do as you are told."

"Wished I had you for a babysitter when I was kid." Neal said, giving her a charming smile.

"Can it, Caffrey." Rendell said.

"What's this about?" Neal asked. "If I'm working for you, I need to know what it is."

"Stacy here just got out of prison, been there for four years." Rendell said.

"I know the feeling." Neal winced.

"Her cell mate, who met with a tragic death just days before Stacy's release, told her the whereabouts of Monet's Fateful Friend painting." 

Neal let out a low whistle and said "That's worth a pretty good chunk of change."

"In the neighborhood of two million dollars." Stacy said.

"I really like that neighborhood." Neal said. "But what does Townsend's painting have to do with it?"

"Ten years ago, the Townsend painting was stolen by a second rate forger. He was caught with fifty forgeries of the painting. He was believed to have had the Monet in his possession, but it was never recovered."

"You think he covered the Monet with the Townsend painting." Neal said. "But you don't know which one."

"Right. All of the forgeries the police found were destroyed, but several were already sold."

"None of the painting you acquired had the Monet?"

"No."

"Did you destroy the real Townsend?"

"No, figured I'd sell it to."

"Can I have it, as a bonus for helping you find the right painting?"

"Sure. If you can find it."

Neal smiled and said, "Just give me a few days."

"You have three, and Stacy stays with you."

"That's an added bonus." Neal replied.

"Just remember." Stacy said, "I don't think we need you, so I won't have any problems with killing you if you step out of line. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

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Peter sat in his car, thinking about his next move. He was parked where Neal's tracker was cut; it was a parking lot for a small shopping complex. He was thinking of where to look for the missing ex-con, when he saw said ex-con walking down the sidewalk. A pretty young woman was with him.

Peter was furious as he got out of the car and started to walk over to the younger man, then he stopped when he noticed that the woman was Rendell's maid. Peter stepped in a doorway as they passed.

"What are you up too, Neal?" Peter asked quietly, as he started to follow the two. He knew that Neal didn't switch sides again, he knew that this was a ploy to get the painting back. He just hoped it was a legal ploy. But with Neal, he really doubted it.

Peter followed them to a small café and sat at a table a few feet from them, hiding his face from view with a menu. He could not hear their whispered conversation. He saw Neal excuse himself and head for the men's room, and followed him.

"I figured you'd be where Rendell cut my tracker." Neal said, as Peter walked in. The two men were alone in the bathroom.

"Explain." Peter said, sternly. He knew he wouldn't like the explanation. "And explain about that shiner you've got."

"I know why Rendell wants all the Townsend's paintings." Neal said, not willing to tell Peter how he got the black eye.

"Why?"

"He thinks one of them is covering a Monet."

"And how did you learn this?"

"Rendell told me."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he wants me to help him steal more paintings."

"Neal!" Peter barked.

"Relax, I'm not really going to steal them."

"How did this happen? I'm pretty sure he didn't just show up at June's and ask for your help."

"Not exactly." Neal said, trying to avoid telling Peter what really happened.

"What happened? Exactly."

"It's a long story, and we don't have time. We need to act fast and…" 

Before Neal could finish that sentence, the door burst opened and Stacy came in, aiming a gun at the two men.

"This is the men's room." Neal reminded her.

"And this is a gun, I knew you couldn't be trusted. I was listening outside the door."

"Eavesdropping isn't nice." Neal said.

"Neither is trying to double cross people."

Peter watched the gun as she pointed it at Neal's head, then he made his move. He grabbed Stacy's arm with one hand and grabbed the gun with the other, then jerked the gun from her grasp.

"Nice move." Neal praised.

Then he winced as Stacy slugged Peter hard in the face, Peter staggered backwards. Stacy jumped up and spun around, then kicked Peter in the side of the head. Peter was knocked down onto the floor.

"You disappoint me." Stacy said, standing over the man. "I was hoping for a better fight."

Peter swung his leg out and knocked hers out from under her. She fell to the floor and Peter quickly cuffed her. Then he stood up and pulled the woman up with him.

"Well that explains the black eye." Peter said.

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An hour later, Peter walked into Hughes' office. A white bandage was covering his broken nose.

"This case got shot to hell!" Hughes boomed, angrily. "I had to cut a deal with both of them to keep Caffrey out of prison!"

"I know." Peter said, he was also mad at Neal. "I will deal with him."

"You better! I want Caffrey punished for this stunt!"

"He will be Sir."

"The only good thing about this whole mess is that we were able to recover the Townsend painting." Hughes grumbled. "If we had time to put together a proper sting, we might have been able to have found the Monet also."

"I know." Peter agreed.

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Neal stood in the middle of the squad room looking up into Hughes' office. He could tell that Hughes was really mad, and that he was yelling at Peter. But he couldn't tell what he was saying.

He felt guilty for Peter getting yelled at because of him, it wasn't Peter's fault. Coming to a decision, Neal quickly raced up the stairs and threw Hughes' door open.

"What is it Caffrey?" Hughes snapped.

"Look, Sir." Neal said, getting nervous. Both older men were glaring at him. "Peter told me not to do anything he didn't authorize, I went against his orders. He had nothing to do with this, it was all my fault."

"One more stunt like this, and I will personally escort you back to prison!" Hughes barked. "This is the FBI, we do things by the book!"

Neal nodded, but didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. He screwed up, and he knew it. He only wanted to get the painting back, which he did. But he messed everything else up.

"They rolled on each other." Hughes hissed. "But neither will serve over a year because they threatened to press charges against you for breaking and entering."

"I know." Neal said, his voice soft.

"You had better straighten up Caffrey. I don't care how many cases you help solve, I will not tolerate this behavior. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Sir."

"Dismissed, both of you."

Peter and Neal walked out of the office and Peter closed the door behind them.

"I'm sorry Peter." Neal said.

"Not now, Neal." Peter said, his voice hard. "I have to think about this."

"Ok."

"Go home, I'll see you later."

Neal nodded, and left. His heart was hurting, Peter was really angry.

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A little while later, Neal was sitting on his sofa. The tv was turned on to the Antique Road Show, but Neal was not paying any attention to it. His mind was whirling with the day's events.

He jumped when he heard a loud knock on the door. Neal got up and opened the door to reveal Peter, who looked calmer.

"Hey Peter." Neal said, stepping aside so he could enter.

"Hey Neal."

Peter walked in and sat on the sofa, then motioned for Neal to sit beside him. The two men sat kind of sideways so they were facing each other.

"Explain." Peter said.

"What's to explain?" Neal asked. "I broke the law by breaking into Rendell's house. I messed up."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"I want to hear it from you."

Neal sighed and said, "To get the painting back."

"Why was that so important to you?"

"It's my job, our job."

"Why was this painting so important?"

Neal looked at the floor, refusing to meet Peter's eyes. He knew the real reason, and he knew that Peter knew the real reason. But he wasn't sure if he could say it out loud.

"I want an answer." Peter said, his voice stern.

"Brown loved his wife." Neal said, still looking at the floor. "That painting was their connection."

"Sorta like that wine bottle is your connection to Kate?" Peter's voice was now soft.

"Yeah." Neal looked up and their eyes meet. "I knew how much that painting meant to him, and I know the pain of losing someone."

"That is no excuse to break the law." Peter said, his voice still soft.

"It seemed like it at the time."

"This is big, Neal. This could have sent you back to prison, or gotten you killed. You do not break the law trying to solve a case. And you do not go in a dangerous situation without backup."

"I know, Peter."

"I understand that this case hit close to home for you, I know how much Kate meant to you. You sympathized with Brown, and that's okay. Sometimes being sympathetic helps us do our jobs, and helps keep us human. You have a good heart, Neal. That's one of the things that makes you so good at this."

Peter's voice turned slightly sterner as he continued. "But what you did is inexcusable. I can not let this go with just a lecture, I have to punish you."

"How?" Neal asked, visions of cleaning out storage rooms filling his head. But he knew he deserved to be punished. And he knew that despite Peter's boorish attitude at times, he was a fair man.

"I don't want your status with the FBI tainted, something like this in your jacket can hurt you. So the punishment won't be official. I have talked and lectured, but you just don't seem to listen. So I've decided to let my belt do the talking, see if you'll listen then."

"W…what?" Neal stammered, his eyes growing wide.

"I want you to stand up and bend over the coffee table." Peter said.

"You can't be serious." Neal said, nervously. He couldn't believe that Peter was actually talking about spanking him.

"I am very serious. I can not and will not let you continue to do as you please without any consequences. You have worked way too hard to ruin your life by not following the rules."

"But you can't spank me." Neal said, "I am an adult."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't deserve to be punished"

Neal looked him in the eyes and opened his mouth to do just that, but he couldn't. He couldn't lie to Peter, he respected and cared for him too much for that. He knew he deserved it, knew Peter was right.

And being spanked was a whole lot better then ruining his career with the FBI, or being sent back to prison. And he trusted Peter; he knew the man would not hurt him too badly. He knew that Peter would only give him what he deserved.

"What's your decision?" Peter asked.

"Okay." Neal's voice was small and lacked the normal confidence. "I trust you, and I know I deserve to be punished."

Peter stood up and walked to the end of the coffee table, then he removed his belt and doubled it. He made sure the buckle was safely in his hand, so it would not strike Neal.

"Let's get this over with." Peter said.

Neal nodded and slowly stood up, and walked over to Peter. He knew he deserved it, but he really didn't want to be spanked.

"Bend over." Peter said, his voice stern, but Neal didn't move. "Now."

Neal slowly turned and bent over, grasping the sides of the table. He felt Peter's hand on his back, then felt a line of fire across his backside. The pain tore a gasp from him. Peter landed blow after painful blow to his butt, and the pain intensified.

Neal tried to remain silent, but his butt felt as if it were on fire. He soon had tears running done his face.

"Owww!" Neal yelped as one lick landed on his tender sit spot. Three more landed in the same place and he stared crying harder.

Peter heard the cries and knew Neal was in pain, but he also knew that he had make sure Neal learned his lesson.

"Owwww!" Neal yelped again as Peter landed three more hard licks in rapid succession to his sit spot.

Peter removed his hand from Neal's back and stepped away, putting his belt back on. Neal stayed bent over, sobbing. After a few moments, he slowly stood up.

"That really hurt." He said, rubbing his butt.

Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, despite the serious situation. Neal looked so young standing there, with a tear stained face and rubbing his butt.

"It's a spanking, it's supposed to hurt." Peter reminded him. "You are also supposed to learn from it."

"I did." Neal assured him.

"Good, because I will not hesitate to do it again if need be. You are too good of a man to ruin your life because you refuse to follow the rules."

"You think I'm a good man?" Neal asked, looking at Peter.

"Yes. Why else would I care if you screw up your life? You are talented, intelligent, and have a good heart. You have a very bright future, and I intend on making sure you don't destroy that future."

"Thanks Peter." Neal said, meaning it. He knew he was lucky to have a man like Peter looking out for him.

Peter smiled, then he pulled the younger man into a hug. Neal returned the hug, feeling better then he had in a long time.

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The next morning, Neal woke to the sounds of someone knocking on his door. He sat up, then quickly stood up with a moan as his sore butt made contact to the mattress. He slowly walked to the door, his aching butt making the trip painful.

Neal opened the door to reveal Mozzie.

"Hey Moz."

"Neal." The older man walked into the room, and over to the sofa.

Neal shut the door, then turned and walked over to the sofa, but did not sit down.

"What's wrong with you?" Mozzie asked with concern, when he saw the way Neal was walking. "Are you injured?"

"I'm fine." Neal lied.

"No you are not. What happened?"

"Peter spanked me." Neal mumbled softly, not really wanting Mozzie to know. But knowing that the other man would not give up until Neal told him.

"He what?" Mozzie jumped up, angry. "He hit you?"

"He spanked me." Neal said. "There is a difference."

"That antisocial ruffian! How dare he hit you?"

"Relax Moz, I deserved it."

"What could you have possible done to warrant such treatment?"

Neal explained everything to Mozzie, watching his friend's expressions change. Mozzie's face went from anger, to shock, then back to anger. But Neal suspected that the anger was now directed towards him and not Peter.

"Have you lost you senses?" Mozzie demanded, proving to Neal that he had been right. "Do you know how bad things could have gone? I hope the suite really gave it to you good for that stunt."

"Mozzie." Neal whined. "I thought you were against him spanking me."

"That was before I learned what you did."

Neal sighed, now it two against one. He was really going to have to clean up his act.

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THE END


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